


As With All Things

by hypocretin



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Drabble, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-21 21:51:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12466696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hypocretin/pseuds/hypocretin





	As With All Things

                                                                                       Beyond the thin wall Keyleth can hear the gentle fall of rain

                                                                             against the cliff, as inside the embers dying in the hearth crackle

                                                                             and leap with effort in rhythm to the quivering breath of the half-elf 

                                                                             who sits trembling at her side. The smaller children have been

                                                                             escorted from her tent this eve, but he is old enough, she thinks, to

                                                                             accompany her now.

     

                                                                                       The knowledge that it is the natural order of things to die 

                                                                             brings him no comfort, and as she watches him quake she cannot 

                                                                             help but see some spark of herself roosting in his eye: He is delicate, 

                                                                             as she once was; quick to emotion that bears down upon him with the

                                                                             full weight of its force. Was she not about his age when she first set

                                                                             foot beyond Zephrah?

     

                                                                                       A fit of brassy coughs rattle her throat and see him stirred with

                                                                             panic, and Keyleth raises a hand against him. “It will pass,” she says

                                                                             with some effort. “As with life—as with all things, it will pass.” The

                                                                             boy says nothing, but cants his head aside in sorrow, and Keyleth

                                                                             rests her palm upon his hand, feeling it tense and quiver beneath

                                                                             her touch.

     

                                                                                       Trembling fingers seek and find the worn metallic disk she

                                                                             keeps at her waist with those most treasured herbs and salves, and

                                                                             a gentle light meets her eye as she traces the shallow engraving

                                                                             that marks its surface; iconography of the matron of ravens well

                                                                             known to her even by touch now in this end to her long life. There is

                                                                             a lurch and pause in her chest that causes her to wince, but she

                                                                             takes care to keep as still as she is able and make no sound.

                                                                             When it eases and her eyes blink slowly open, she says beneath

                                                                             a whisper, “It seems my footpath follows finally after yours, now.”

     

                                                                                       For all her life it had seemed to Keyleth she were part of a

                                                                             dream from which she might never wake, so strange and orderless

                                                                             had life been. Before she knew it that dream was ending now, and

                                                                             the sting of bittersweet that wells within her heart at this threatens

                                                                             to turn tears upon her cheek, and she closes her eyes against it.

     

                                                                                       “My eyes grow heavy,” she says, gently as she is able, “it is

                                                                             time I rest a while.”

     

                                                                                       The boy turns upon her then, a fearful sadness burning in his

                                                                             eye that he makes quiet with no small effort, and nods, taking her

                                                                             hand in kind. Words of love and comfort summoned to his mouth

                                                                             stir together in her mind as she fades, mingling with the voices of

                                                                             every loved person in her millennium. He is every friend, every

                                                                             pupil and mentor, every kind stranger all at once as she struggles

                                                                             quietly to recall her circumstance. The dreamlike moments of

                                                                             disorientation linger for a minute or two—then, with a sigh, all at

                                                                             once the dream gives way beneath her, and she is not there to

                                                                             feel the boy buckle with sorrow beside her, or note the small

                                                                             raven’s feather that has come to rest curiously amongst the cool

                                                                             ash and charcoal.


End file.
